Pink Snow
Page 15
“His wife told us how he immediately drove off when she gave him the message. You can understand how I felt while we were bringing him down this afternoon.”
“Who telephoned the message?”
“Frau Hallstein was given no name, but she thinks he was not a local man. He spoke with a German accent.”
It took some working out to realize how a man could speak German with a German accent, but she concluded that Austrians must have their own version of it, like Americans speaking English.
“It was a trap,” Anton continued. “The doctor did not drive off the road by accident, and the whole thing is too soon after last week.”
It was becoming difficult to follow his line of thought and she begged him to explain himself. “What has last week to do with it?”
“Do you not see that it is too much like your accident only last Saturday? I think it is the same person who killed the man on Kapellerpass who made this phone call.”
“Surely you don’t think Dr. Hallstein was forced off that road deliberately?”
“There is no doubt of it. The weather last night was clear and the doctor knew that pass very well. There was no accident in Umtal involving me — or anyone else. Surely that is enough to prove the doctor was brought along that lonely pass on purpose. Franz has just returned to the Gendarmerie after asking questions. It was riot easy for either of us.”
What he suggested appalled her. “They surely don’t suspect you!”
“I was working on my book last Saturday afternoon and saw no one. I could have gone to Kapellerpass. I cannot prove that I was here all last night, either. That is the drawback of living alone.”
“But your own brother-in-law!”
“He was only carrying out orders. It was as painful for him as for me.”
“Surely Inspector Schultz can see you are not the type of person to do anything criminal,” she protested.
“You believed I was.”
She colored. “Only for a short while.”
The blue glitter of his eyes pierced her through. “Now you suspect me of being a boy – a flirt. Like everyone else, you do not bother to discover what kind of person I am. The name Anton Reiter is sufficient. To the world, I am a skier whose life ended when he collided with Adriano Moretti. Unfortunately, I continue to live.”
His sudden bitterness made her angry and to relieve the charge of emotion, she snapped, “You can’t hold me responsible for what the world thinks. You’ll have to sort out your problems as best you can. I have enough of my own.”
“I love you – that is one of my problems!”
What did a girl do when the ground was taken from beneath her feet; when the man she felt irresistibly drawn to made an astounding declaration of love? She became a blabbering idiot, Kathryn discovered.
“You can’t!”
He stiffened. “Why can I not?”
“It’s impossible . . . you haven’t known me long enough. Besides, a man like you . . .”
“. . . cannot have thoughts, wishes, feelings which have nothing to do with skiing. Is that what you were about to say?”
“For goodness sake forget about skiing!”
He gritted his teeth. “That is just what I am not allowed to do. Kathryn, at first you thought I was an ignorant shopkeeper, then you suspected that I might be your enemy. Since your English friend told you of my past life, you have thought me incapable of sincerity. Has there ever been one moment when you regarded me as an ordinary man, a person who might easily fall in love with a girl who needed a friend very badly?”
The fight went out of her. “Yes. The evening we talked and played records here. You must know that yourself.”
“I thought I knew, but last night when I telephoned, you refused to come here, were unwilling to be alone with me. What happened to change you?”
It was obviously an evening for soul-baring, so she plunged right in. “I met Robert on my way across to the Gasthaus that night. He suggested that I was slightly unprincipled and compared me with girl-tourists who hang around local ski-instructors. It seemed likely that you might share his opinion.”
He reached across and took her hands. “Do you think I would have devoted the evening to playing records if that were true? After the Forellenabend you made no effort to be always in my company. I am not a Dumkopf, Kathryn, and I seem to be a better judge of character than your English friend – or you!”
“You don’t have to point that out to me. My mother has – many times.”
“In your case, it is quite understandable. You have had a very bad time since you came to Mosskirch. How are you to know who can be trusted? I began by feeling sorry for a young foreign girl who had a car crash at the beginning of her holiday. Then, I discovered you had probably caused the death of a man through the accident. I know how it feels to have that responsibility to live with every day and night, so I wanted to help you as much as I could. I became so involved in your problems – I thought of them all the time – I suddenly found it was more than a wish to help. It was a desire to take all your troubles, to protect you. When you spoke of returning to England, I discovered I wanted to keep you here in Mosskirch. I admire the way you cope with all this worry, Kathryn. It is unusual in a girl, but you need someone to look after you.”
“I read in your book that an accident brought your skiing career to an end. What happened, Anton?”
He sighed and dropped her hands. “It was over so quickly and need never have happened. To tell you how it is I have to say that I began to ski when I was three years old, and to climb when I was five. By the time I went to Innsbruck University I was very good at both sports. So good that I spent more time at sport than my studies, so I had to leave before I could take my examinations. I was successful in the slalom and went to competitions all over Europe. Martin Carter, my English teacher from Sussex, was also a skier, so my whole world was just the snow and young men and women like myself who thought the most important thing in the world was the next race. It is very exciting, Kathryn, and a person must be all the time alert. Up on his toes, I think you say in England.” His brow furrowed. “I do not find it easy to explain so that it sounds as we felt it. Do you understand what I mean?”
“Yes, I’m only sorry you have to speak in English all the time.”
“No matter,” he said with impatience. “So, we lived like this — very alert and always thinking of the ski-runs. After a while, it became too much. Always travelling, always skiing – and the parties afterwards! So one day I wait for my turn when it is a very important race and I am thinking only of how I will take this particular run.” He groaned and slapped one fist into his other palm. “I am telling this so badly, Kathryn. You will never understand how it was.”
“I can try,” she said softly.
“It is so important that you do,” he told her. “I heard Adriano Moretti’s number called, and knew I should be next. I did not see him walk away from the starting-point to adjust his ski, so when the signal came, I started my run thinking it was my signal. Four hundred meters down, I saw something coming straight at me, very fast. Adriano died the following day. I spent six months in hospital not caring what happened to me. The official report said it was an unfortunate accident and shared the blame between the officials at the starting-point, Adriano and me, but if I had been really alert it would not have happened. It is every competitor’s duty to make sure the run is clear before he starts down. I did not, and a friend died. The fault was mine and I have never forgotten. You see now why I wished to help you so very much.”
His disclosure explained so much more than why he had taken pity on a girl who seemed to be suffering the same fate as he. No wonder he changed moods so rapidly and hated any suggestion that he was careless of life.
“I’m so sorry,” was her quiet comment. “I only had a man’s death on my conscience for two days, but that was five years ago. Isn’t it time you began to forget?”
“How can I when all the time I am forced to live
in my past? The only people who do not always speak of skiing to me are the Petz family. I do not suppose they told you of the sports champion next door.”
“No,” she said. “I wondered why Maria had said nothing when I asked who you were. She told me you owned a sports shop, that’s all. Everyone else in the village is only too ready to discuss your past career.”
‘As I told you,” he said bitterly.
“You can’t expect them to forget it as though it never happened. They are proud of your achievements, naturally. You can’t wipe it out as though it had never existed. That is the price of fame. Does it matter so very much to you?”
“Yes. A man cannot live in his past.”
“Then you must make your future so exciting they will forget anything that went before.”
“I could – with you.”
Her dreams of a future with him had been one thing; a sudden confrontation of the reality of it with all its complications was another, and she shied from facing it.
“The way things are at the moment, it is impossible to think of anything but the present,” she forced herself to say and was hurt by the way he took her remark.
“Of course, I am under suspicion for several crimes.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! They don’t seriously suspect you. All the same, I can’t understand why anyone would tell Dr. Hallstein that you were injured, or why he was pushed over the edge of Sternpass. That is what happened, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Almost certainly. Franz says there were no skid marks on the road above, and if the doctor had been driving fast and missed the turning, the car would have fallen further outward and missed the cleft. He believes it was tipped over the edge deliberately.”
“Who would want to kill him? I thought he was one of the villains.”
He pushed himself from the chair in a restless movement.
“I told you already that he was not.”
“But you hinted that he was up to something, nevertheless.”
A twisted smile touched only his lips. “Kathryn, it is too late and I am too tired to understand your funny expressions.”
“Sorry. It means that he is involved in a mystery of some sort, and it looks as if Herr Petz can be safely added to the group. What secret activity would involve Dr. Hallstein, Herr Petz and young Peter?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I do not know, Kathryn, I just do not know. I am sorry that you were frightened last night, but Herr Petz holds no danger for you – you do believe that?”
“I can see your reasoning regarding his opportunity to kill me while I was unconscious, but I would still like to know why he ran after me along that lonely path yesterday. You must agree it was hardly normal behavior.”
“I will ask him first thing in the morning and tell you his answer. Will that make you feel safer?”
She noticed how incredibly tired and careworn he looked and stood up. “Yes, thank you. Now, I suggest you get some sleep before you drop with exhaustion.” She walked into the hallway and waited by the door for him to reach her. With her usual impulsiveness she found she couldn’t leave him with things as they stood between them.
“I don’t live in your past, Anton. I must be one of the few people who had never heard of you until I came here quite by chance. To me, you are simply as I see you today.”
He took her hand. “Then I must make sure you like what you see.” The kiss was gentle, and accompanied by soft words in his own language. “Just promise me that you will not return to England without telling me,” he said eventually.
“I promise,” she whispered.
*
Sunday morning in Mosskirch was filled with the ringing of church bells; the sound echoed around the valley as soon, as Kathryn awoke. From her window she saw villagers wending their way to the two churches, the women and small girls with lacy scarves covering their heads, and the men dressed in grey knickerbockers and Tyrolean jackets with green facings.
She had slept soundly and now felt ready to face the surprises which today might bring, but first there was the dilemma of what to do about Anton. All ideas that he might be philandering with the only available girl-tourist were banished last night. He seemed sincere and very serious about his feelings towards her, but had they been influenced by pity for a girl who had suffered a similar experience to the one which had affected his life so deeply? And was her overpowering attraction to him due only to gratitude for his staunch support and the fire his kisses aroused?
Even as she asked the question she knew it was a foolish one. The short time she had known him had produced a spark between them which had not been there with any other man. Robert was charming and fun to be with, but Anton made her feel alive in every possible way. Life with him would be exciting, challenging and never dull. There would be arguments — with their temperaments it was unavoidable — but together they could do so much.
How would she feel about becoming Frau Reiter — an Austrian? Mrs. Davis would be horrified! Her generation had grown up to a background of marching jackboots and swastikas. Anyone speaking German she regarded with suspicion, even now, and no amount of explaining would persuade her that Anton was Austrian and had hardly been born in that troubled period. By the time Mrs. Davis’s friends had filled in the details of his international sporting background, with the consequent fatality, Anton would be condemned as a careless playboy; a continental pleasure-seeker with little regard for the good of society. Anybody more the complete antithesis of her mother’s idea of the perfect husband, Kathryn couldn’t imagine. To marry Anton would be Kathryn’s ultimate folly in that lady’s opinion — but what heavenly folly!
It was mid-morning when Kathryn rang Anton’s bell. He had promised to speak to Herr Petz first thing in the morning, and she could wait no longer to hear what he had to say. A night’s sleep did not appear to have done him any good; he still looked tired and drawn and his welcoming smile was forced.
“Have you any news of Dr. Hallstein?” she asked at once.
“An hour ago he was still alive. They have done all they can. It is a matter of waiting, now.”
She touched his arm. “Has Franz called to see you today?”
He shook his head. “I think he has to wait for Inspector Schultz to come over from Innsbruck tonight.”
Kathryn sat in her usual seat and waited for him to take the one opposite. “Please don’t worry, Anton. They can’t possibly blame you for any of this. You have no reason for killing that stranger on Kapellerpass, and Dr. Hallstein has a loyal friend in you – too loyal to turn about-face and push him over a mountain road. Whoever the villain is, he definitely is not you.” She reached across the table to take his cold hand in hers and smiled her love at him. “Now we understand each other, we’ll work out the answer together sooner or later.”
He didn’t respond as she expected. The cold hand made no attempt to clasp hers, and the bitter downward line of his mouth was very evident in the absence of the hoped-for smile. The silence stretched into significant length and Kathryn felt a clutch of apprehension.
“Anton, have you spoken to Herr Petz?” she said sharply.
“Yes.”
She drew her hand away at his toneless answer. “Well?”
“You were mistaken, Kathryn. You could not have seen Herr Petz on Karlstein. He was not there that day.”
She gaped at him in disbelief. “But he was. I saw him clearly.”
“No, Kathryn. You must have imagined it – as you imagined all those other occasions.” The blue had gone from his eyes leaving a cold glitter which frightened her.
From the very beginning, Anton had been the one person who had accepted all she told him without question. Now, with the emotional pull strong between them, he accused her of being a paranoiac, a girl who was reacting to a bump on the head by telling hysterical tales of persecution.
“Why are you doing this, Anton? What has happened since last night? Are you getting your own back on me for distrusting you?”
For a long minute they looked at each other, the man cold and angry, the girl unbearably hurt.
“Yes, I see now just how very confused. I had better take things easy until I leave for England.” She stood up and walked on shaking legs towards the long sliding windows, unaware of the words which poured from her lips and over which she stumbled. “Robert is leaving tomorrow . . . I . . . I expect I can go with him. He has been wanting me to return to Bournemouth. The journey will be more pleasant . . . another English person . . . it makes all the difference, you know.” She had reached the window and started to fumble for the handle. Wordlessly Anton slid back the large pane and Kathryn slipped through as soon as the gap was large enough. “Good-bye, and good luck with your books,” she called as she ran down the steps into the garden as though she were a casual guest who had popped in for a flying visit. There was no thought of a backward glance. Her overriding desire was to get as far away as possible so that she could lick her wounds and shrivel beneath the truth of her inability to cope with reality. Her mother was right. She lived in a world of make-believe; a world where chamois roamed on pink snow, and a tall fair lover remained true until death!
Her flight was halted on the stairs of the Gasthaus. Robert was clattering down from his room and called out when he saw her.
“Hey, Kathryn, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. We had a date, didn’t we?”
Here was her deliverance from today! The promise to go for a drive with him had been forgotten as easily as it was given last night, but Robert appeared much as a knight on a white charger at this moment A young man in a tweed jacket driving a hired car may not be as romantic, but he was about to rescue her from the terrible fate of her thoughts just as effectively.
Her emotions were carefully anaesthetized by the time they drove past the church at the top end of the village, and Robert helped by keeping his chatter fairly light and impersonal. They had lunch in the restaurant on top of Kapellerpass. The clouds had lifted, but an intense cold bit into their faces as they stepped from the car making them scamper to the door. Already, snow powdered the ground wherever they looked, turning the previous autumnal look into definite winter.